


A Family Story

by tzzzz



Series: Dave's Story [2]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Episode Related, Episode: s04e15 Outcast, Family, M/M, Post Episode: s04e15 Outcast
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-02
Updated: 2013-11-02
Packaged: 2017-12-31 04:01:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1026999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tzzzz/pseuds/tzzzz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snapshots of Dave Sheppard's family, after John comes back home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Family Story

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to Dave's Story, but you don't have to have read that to understand this.

Dave's surprised to see him, of course. There's been so much to do, from talks with the funeral parlor to composing a careful list of those to invite personally, he's barely had enough time to contemplate his own grief, let alone wonder about John.  
  
It's been coming up on five years since he's heard from his older brother, so he's learned not to expect much. It would be too melodramatic to say that John's dead to him, because Dave hasn't had the time to mourn him either, but there's a part of him that honestly never expected to see his brother again.  
  
But there he is, in a suit that makes him look like a beanpole, not looking a day older than when Dave last saw him, though his hair is longer. There's a big man there with him - the kind with lean perfect muscles and an intense stare, like he just sauntered out of the swimsuit edition of whatever it is gay men read. And it stings, seeing them stand so relaxedly together,  _knowing_  that John's playing the woman to this macho man. Maybe he's finally quit the military and is living the gay dream with his surfer boy over in San Francisco or West Hollywood. But then, how did Dave's message get to him?  
  
Dave knows he's cutting it a little short with people he probably shouldn't, but the CEO of PEP can give him a little leeway at his father's funeral.  
  
"John," he says.  
  
"Dave."  
  
"I wasn't sure you were going to make it." It's not the most tactful thing to come out his mouth today, but at least it's honest. John's handshake is firm but friendly, trustworthy, just like Dad taught them years ago. At least his brother hasn't forgotten that. "It's good to see you." Surprisingly, it is. After all these years wondering when he'd get that letter saying John'd died in some war or another, or if John would even bother to let the military know they were meant to send one, it's good to see him here, alive if not necessarily happy. "I contacted your unit commander in Peterson, but sometimes those messages don't seem to reach you." He hopes John takes that to mean that Dave wants to hear from him, but then he remembers that when it comes to reading between the lines, John can be a bit dyslexic. He'll bring it up later.  
  
"Well, I came as soon as I heard." John says it as though it's enough. "Uh, this is Ronon. Ronon, this is Dave, my brother."  
  
"Nice to meet you."  
  
"Pleasure." Dave grits his teeth and remembers he has to be polite to John's twenty-something boytoy. "You two work  _together_  in the Air Force?"  
  
"He's a civilian contractor."   
  
Yeah, Dave's met a lot of defense contractors. They wear expensive suits and have beer bellies to match the pork barrels they like to feed on. The only thing Ronon looks like he might be contracting is a lap dance. "Right."  
  
John, at least, read that one correctly, glaring back at Dave. Ronon just looks confused.  
  
"Anyway, John, we should probably talk."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"I'll catch up with you later." Dave should know better than to hope by now. John will flit in and out of his life according to his own plan, and there's no sense trying to make things better between them. Dave's tried, and every time, John just pushes him away. But maybe, without Dad and the baggage between him and John stacked high between them, they can find a way to be brothers again.  
  
Of course, it's never that easy. Dave catches up with Nancy over by the food table and after she gives him a hug and some of the first heartfelt condolences he's heard all day, he asks, "So you know John's here, right?"  
  
She looks away from him, not quite meeting his eyes. "Yes. I spoke with him already."  
  
Dave wants to ask what she thinks of his new gay playmate action figure, but John's sexuality and how much she knows about it has never been something they've discussed. He wants to ask if John let her know anything about his life at all.  
  
Nancy takes mercy on him and shakes her head. "I'm pretty sure he didn't want to see me. He's changed, though. There's something different."  
  
"Let's hope it's for the better," Dave mumbles, excusing himself when he spots one of the EPA lawyers shuffling down a stack of crab cakes.  
  
He's tired and emotionally drained, done with small talk and stilted professional conversations when he sees John, the toy boy, and an unfamiliar woman making their way towards guest parking. There's no way John's ducking out now, but maybe this is a good time for Dave to grab him. There'll be time to talk later, after he's prepared John for what's in the will. Leave it up to Dad to divide them, even in death. "John, I was thinking that we should probably--"  
  
He doesn't even let Dave finish before the excuses start pouring out. "Look, something came up, I gotta go." Dave's forgotten that John will do anything to avoid discussing his feelings.  
  
"It's Dad's wake," Dave protests. He doesn't know how he can say it more clearly. All appearances of a son leaving his father's funeral aside, does John really care that little? Even after all of the things that were said, John had to have loved him just a little.  
  
"I know, but this is work related." It's not as though Dave doesn't have work to be doing too. While he's here schmoozing, half of the guys here are plotting how to take advantage of this new weakness, while the other half probably have stock brokers making a fortune on the sudden drop in SEP's share price.  
  
"Oh, oh, what is it? Top secret? National security? That sort of thing?" Because that's always been John's excuse, even with Nancy.  
  
"Something like that."  
  
"You know, this is so typical." Because even though John'd been gone too long to share any of the burden of handling the funeral, Dave had hoped that his presence would at least soften the emotional blow. What happened to the brother who'd held Dave when he cried and defended him when he was picked on? It wasn't long ago that Dave had believed that John would move the world to protect him.  
  
"If you've got something to say, just say it," John snaps, looking suddenly weary, as though this is all  _Dave's_  fault.  
  
"There's just one thing I want to know." That's a lie, of course. Dave wants to know a thousand things. Where's John been for the past five years? Who exactly is this Ronon guy to him? Is he happy? But there's only one thing he  _needs_  to ask, because if John somehow wrangles half of the family shares and then sells them, Dave will lose control, and who knows what the board will do then? And knowing John, he'll sell to give money to starving children in Africa, or just to spite Dad, with no idea what he's really doing. And that'll be the last thing. After that, Dave will never be able to forgive him. "What's your level of expectation here?"  
  
"What are you talking about?"  
  
"I mean are you going to challenge the will? I have no idea what it says, of course, but I think I can guess." He's being nasty and he knows it. John will take this to mean that Dad's cut him out, when Dave's sure that it's the opposite, money being the only kind of olive branch their father would have known how to extend.  
  
"That's what you want to talk about? You want to talk about money?" Dave feels a disgusting rush of satisfaction at that, and the destroyed look on John's face. Sure, it makes Dave look like the corporate monster he's sure John has painted him as for years, but it's John who reduced their relationship to a shadowplay of stereotypes, not Dave.  
  
"That's why you're here, isn't it? It's not such a stretch." Except it is, because Dave knows his brother and his lofty ideals better than anyone and the last thing John ever cared about was money. Though there is that lingering speck of doubt. John's over forty now, he has to be thinking about retirement and keeping his pretty boy happy.  
  
"You've got nothing to worry about." John says it like Dave's the monster here.  
  
"Hey, if I've got the wrong impression of you, it's not my fault," he responds, and god, it feels really good to just say it, all of the things he's wanted to for years while John maintained a wall of silence. "You're the one who left, remember? I stayed. I looked after dad. I ran the business, while you're off doing god knows what."  
  
"I'm assuming that's what Dad wanted." Poor deluded John. Dave has never been able to tell if it's selective blindness or if John really does see the world through this screwed up lens in which he's not smart enough or perfect enough or worthy of being loved. He underestimates himself, but no more than he underestimates everyone else and their ability to forgive or even their capacity to make mistakes and make up for them.  
  
"No, no it's not, John. Dad regretted what happened between you two, right up until the end."  
  
He thinks it'll be enough. Once John realizes that everyone's not against him, then he'll stay. But instead he turns to go and Dave still can't figure out whether there is some classified military emergency or John is just running away once again.  
  
  
  
  
No one could be more surprised than Dave when John shows up at his front door looking apologetic and bashful. It's a pleasant surprise, however, because despite everything that was said, this is the first time in a decade John has initiated any sort of contact rather than just showing up when it was required of him.  
  
"Come in," Dave says, hiding a smile.  
  
"Thanks." John steps through the door, examining the foyer and the family room like he's never seen them before, despite growing up in this house and the wake three days earlier.   
  
John looks pale, and are those bruises around his throat? Either his toy boy is rough in the handling or he really did disappear into a fight for national security. "Damn, John, what happened to you? Sit down. Please."  
  
John rubs at his neck a little, looking embarrassed. "I'm fine. My work related problem got a little physical. That's all."  
  
"Are you all right? Can I get you anything? Water?"  
  
"Corona?"  
  
Dave takes a moment to think. Madeline, the aupair and the kids are in the city. He has no idea what's in the fridge. "What about a German microbrew? You like pale, amber, or stout?"  
  
"Whatever you're having."  
  
When Dave comes back, beers in hand, John is sprawled out on the couch, looking out of place in the well ordered, home and gardens family room, despite the oxford and blazer.  
  
"This is good." John indicates the beer.  
  
Dave just barely restrains himself from the story about 'discovering' this quaint little brewery on a business trip to Germany. Unlike 99% of the people Dave meets, John doesn't need to be reminded of either Dave's wealth or business savvy. "I like it," he replies, stupidly.  
  
"I'm sorry I ran out on the wake. But it was important."  
  
Dave gestures to John's bruises. "It's--" It's not okay. It was Dad's wake, and John should have let someone else go get beat up in his place, but, "it was clearly necessary."  
  
John nods, wincing a little at the movement. "We still need to talk."  
  
"We do."  
  
"I told you before. I don't want the money." Dave wants to interrupt and tell him that it wasn't  _just_  the money that they needed to talk about, but John barrels on. "Where I'm stationed, there's not really a lot of ways to spend my paycheck, and it's combat pay for a lieutenant colonel, so--"  
  
"Congratulations."  
  
"Excuse me?" John looks at him like Dave's crazy.  
  
"Last time I saw you, you were a major."  
  
"Thanks," he replies absently, as though he hasn't even thought about it in a long time. Dave remembers John promotion to captain and how he'd used his rank in every possible conversation, that first excited phone call when he'd said, 'this is _Captain_  John Sheppard calling? May I speak to Dave?' and Dave had laughed his congratulations.  
  
"I'm happy for you." Most people never expected John to do well in the military, as rebellious as he was. 'Fortunate sons' weren't  _supposed_  to do well. But Dave had always known that John had it in him, if he could just keep one particular rebellion under wraps.   
  
"Well, it's nothing like you're getting, but it's pay grade five and I get two-thirds upon retirement. Besides, I'll probably die before I even have to think about that, so--"  
  
"Jesus, John. Don't talk like that." Only John could speak about his own death the way other people talk about market predictions. It's as though he doesn't even know that Dave feels it like a punch to the gut.   
  
"I'm just saying, I don't want to be any trouble. I'm not going to challenge--"  
  
Dave interrupts, "You get half."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Your trust fund, plus the Monterey house and the cabin in Aspen. Three quarters of and liquid assets and a third of the shares in SEP."  
  
"Huh. I assumed that I'd get nothing."  
  
"Dad didn't hate you."  
  
"He didn't want anything to do with me."  
  
"Because you didn't give him a chance."  
  
"I didn't do what he wanted and he hated that. He hated people like me."  
  
"Those were just things he said because he didn't know any better." Ironically, Patrick Sheppard knew to hate the sin love the sinner better than John ever will. For John, people are their ideals. He expects everyone to take an abstract principle to its most extreme conclusion exactly the way he does. "He loved  _you_. You knew how to push all his buttons, but he loved you. Given time, he would have accepted it."  
  
John isn't looking at Dave anymore, just staring off into space, inscrutable as always. "It shouldn't have to take any time!"  
  
"No it shouldn't, but it does."  
  
"And his way of letting me know that he didn't hate me after all is to give me some houses after he's dead?!"  
  
Privately, Dave thinks that John might've done something similar, had he been in their father's shoes, but instead he says, "he never expected to go this early. I think he thought you'd come back before it came to this." In truth, Dave's not sure anybody thought John would come back to them. What he does know is that despite all his regrets, Patrick Sheppard had been too damned stubborn to do anything about it, until it was too late.  
  
"If he would have just told me. I don't need all that money. What am I supposed to do with it?"  
  
Dave shrugs. "Whatever you want. Just, as a favor, please don't sell your controlling shares in SEP. If it the company passes out of family control, then who knows what the board will do to me?"  
  
John grits his teeth, like he's readying for battle. "You can have my shares. Just tell me where to sign."  
  
"I don't have nearly enough to buy them from you," but Dave would if he could. SEP is Dad's legacy. It's more his home than any of their houses ever were, each branch and division handcrafted.   
  
"I already told you I don't need the money," John snaps.  
  
Dave is awestruck. He'd been accusing John of coming back out of greed and here he was, willing to give up a fortune just because he didn't feel like handling it. "John, I'm not sure you understand home much we're talking about here. You don't even have to take the seat on the board that comes along with it."  
  
"It's more than I need. Besides, you're good at the business stuff. This way, you can stick to that and I can stick to flying planes and shooting things."  
  
Dave knows better than to get angry in the face of John's sudden generosity, but he can't help it. Maybe he'd be good at flying and shooting things, if he'd been given the opportunity to even try them. "It's not easy."  
  
"Never said it was."  
  
Dave doesn't know why it's all spilling out now. Maybe it's grief, or this repression thing his shrink always talks about whenever they discuss John. "I didn't want it. I never wanted any of it. I wanted to go into  _marketing_. It's fun and creative and has more to do with psychology than business. There's no accounting and profit analysis and stock dealings. There's definitely less corporate networking. But you left, and I had no choice."  
  
John stiffens, his voice horse when he raises it. "You had just as much a choice as I did! Nobody said you had to do whatever Dad wanted. You could've had your own career. You chose to go to business school and you chose to go work with Dad."  
  
Dave sighs. After all these years, John still doesn't get it. "And abandon my family? I'm not like you. I couldn't just walk away when Dad built his dreams on leaving us with a company, a family legacy. Do you even know what family means?"  
  
"I know what it means," John growls, low and dangerous. "It's the people you'd do anything for."  
  
"You can't pick and choose, John. It's the people you love no matter what they do."  
  
Dave can still read John's emotions like an open book, even if he rarely understands them, and right now, all he sees is guilt. Because as fiercely as John loves, he's never done so unconditionally.  
  
But Dave is tired of pressing the point. He knows he has the moral high ground, regardless of what John might think, but he doesn't care. This is his brother and there's no point fighting when god knows when John will tumble back into his life again. "I was thinking of going for a ride up to the lake. Care to join me?"  
  
John looks startled, like it's the last thing he was expecting, but he nods, letting Dave pull him to his feet.  
  
"I'll race you?" Dave asks.  
  
"Oh, you're on." It's been a long time since Dave's seen John smile. He misses it.  
  
  
  
John has to head out the following evening, but that doesn't stop Dave from pulling the girls out of school for an extra day on Monday to spend time with him.  
  
Madeline, who seemed to like John enough at the wedding, is doing her best to appear open in front of the girls and condemning when they're not looking. She's right, of course, they should have grown up knowing their uncle.  
  
Mandy and Sara, for their part, adore John, jumping all over him and letting him show them how to throw a football out in the back yard. When Dave comes in from a brief business call in the study, Sara is asleep, with her head on John's lap and Mandy has already been taken to her room by the aupair. Star Wars is playing on the big screen.  
  
"They like you," Dave notes, as though it's not obvious. "You should visit more often." What he doesn't say is that any visit would be more often then never.  
  
John has on what Dave has long thought of as his Joan of Ark face - defiant, and noble, and completely hopeless. "I wasn't lying about what I said before, Dave. What I do is pretty damned dangerous. I don't want them to get to attached, if I might not--"  
  
Dave rolls his eyes. "That's not the point. Even if they have to deal with losing you, it's better than never knowing you at all. I know you want to protect them, but you can't protect people from loss. It's part of life." Dave thinks about how he lost John. That was a loss that John could have prevented, if he'd only understood.  
  
"Thanks for having me, anyway," John replies.  
  
"You're welcome anytime. You know that, right?"  
  
John nods, giving Dave a small smile.  
  
Despite the funeral, and all the things they talked about yesterday up by the lake - Dad, Mom, the good memories and the bad - Dave is sure that John has changed. It's something soul deep and inexplicable, a small sliver of peace that shines through when John finally relaxes and smiles.   
  
He knows that it might still be touchy subject, but Dave has to know. "So, this Ronon character-- He makes you happy?"  
  
John snorts. "Every once and a while, when he's not kicking my ass or disobeying my orders."  
  
"Too much information, buddy." Dave winces.  
  
John looks bewildered for a second before bursting out into a peel of wild laughter, almost startling Sara awake. "Me and  _Ronon?_  You think I could even keep up?"  
  
"Well, you are getting a little old."  
  
"Watch it, buddy, you're not exactly young yourself."  
  
Dave laughs. John's right. They're getting old, too old to leave things unsaid the way Dad did. "But there is someone? You are happy?"  
  
"Not someone, right now, but yeah, I am."  
  
The grin stupidly at each other for a while until a black SUV pulls up to the drive and John kisses his nieces goodbye and is gone.  
  
  
  
Loud, obnoxious, egomaniacal, and brilliant, Dave gets. No matter how hard he tries, he's not getting strangely endearing. Not from Rodney McKay, at least.  
  
The girls are tucked in bed (Madeline having escaped with them), John is staring vaguely into space, grinning contentedly, and Rodney McKay is still talking about wine. They've been through the fermentation process, the type of soil required, refrigeration, bottle design, a tangent on the uses of citrus for flavoring, and the chemical changes brought about by aging. Dave has considered committing hari-kari with his dessert fork on five separate occasions.  
  
"And that's why you should divide your refrigeration unit into separate sections depending on type of wine and age, instead of lumping them all together," Rodney concludes.  
  
"Thanks, I'll consider that in the future. Now who's for dessert?" Dave adds hastily, before Rodney can start talking again. None of the people he networks with at business parties, even the old senile retired ones, can hold a candle to Rodney McKay when it comes to conversational black holes. All Dave had asked was whether or not Rodney would like the '99 merlot or the '04 cab.   
  
"Well why didn't you just say so?" Rodney demands, digging into his chocolate mousse the second it's placed in front of him.   
  
John smiles at Rodney, bemused, before finally getting Dave back on familiar turf. "So, how's work?"  
  
They talk about how SEP is holding up in the current recession, and what good movies Dave's seen recently, and the retired racehorse he's just purchased to start in on a breeding program. Rodney has four servings of mousse, and though it's better than a lecture on the chemicals processes of chocolate making, his moans of pleasure are slightly disturbing. Maybe that's what John means by endearing.  
  
Rodney collapses back in his seat with a groan, patting a full belly, and suddenly remembering to be charming, "That was an excellent meal. Thank you."  
  
"You're welcome," Dave replies, checking the clock. It's nearly ten o'clock, and he has to be in the city for a board meeting tomorrow. It's both a blessing and a curse that John and Rodney can't stay for longer.   
  
"I guess we'd better turn in," John says.  
  
"You're right. I'm exhausted. I'm not sure about you, but I think I have inter-, um, international gate-- jetlag."  
  
They both stand, but John stops Rodney with a hand on his shoulder, pulling him in for a brief, chaste kiss. Rodney seems startled, as though he knows as well as Dave how hard that little display of openness was for John. "I'll catch up to you. And don't squeeze my toothpaste wrong or I'll schedule you for extra training sessions with Ronon."  
  
"Nazi," Rodney says with an eye roll, but trundles obediently out of the room.  
  
"Sorry about that," John says, with a wince, as soon as his boyfriend is out of earshot. "He tends to talk a lot when he's nervous."  
  
"Really? I didn't notice."  
  
"He grows on you."  
  
"I sure hope so."  
  
"You don't like him?" John asks, looking like he's spoiling for a fight.  
  
Dave doesn't want to fight. "I still don't really know him," he prevaricates. "I know a lot about wine, now, though."  
  
John chuckles, as though Dave's utter misery was cute. "He researched all about it, you know. He found out that you were the head of a Fortune 1,000 company and decided that wine would be something you could have in common."  
  
Okay, so maybe that is a little endearing. That still doesn't explain why John, who is objectively a rather attractive man, is with an overweight, balding geek who doesn't even let him get a word in edgewise.  
  
"Rodney is definitely  _unique_ ," John concedes. "But he's fun. I--" he ducks his head like it's some big high school secret. "I like him a lot."  
  
"I'm glad," Dave replies. "Maybe, if he's less nervous next time--"  
  
"We'll just have to do something to take the nervousness off of you. We can take the kids to Disneyland or something. He's more fun when he has something to rant about."  
  
Dave nods. "I really am happy for you, John, even if I don't see it." He squeezes his brother's shoulder and goes to sleep with a smile on his face.  
  
When he comes home the next day, he finds his wine cellar covered in spare screws and various parts, a system of automatic classification and temperature differentiation suddenly built into his fridge.   
  
He shakes his head. Maybe he can see endearing, just a little.  
  
  
  
Dave emailed his brother about the divorce, but he hadn't actually expected him to show up. John sent him a concerned email about why he hadn't heard from him in more than a month. He could have lied, of course, considering that their emails never cover much more than a few lines about how John is still alive and Dave recommending movies or talking about the kids, but he hadn't wanted to.   
  
John shows up in a faded 'I'm with genius' t-shirt, with a black eye and a split lip and Dave finds himself laughing for the first time since Madeline walked out on him.   
  
"What?"  
  
"Is Rodney beating you or something?"  
  
John rolls his good eye. "By my work is dangerous, I didn't mean speculating in junk bonds."  
  
"I know. You need an ice pack, or anything?"  
  
"I think what we both need is a whiskey," John replies.   
  
This is the John he remembers, Dave thinks hours later, when he's looking over John's shoulder, tears streaming down his face, and his brother looks like he'd go out and kill someone just to make Dave feel better.  
  
Dave wakes up passed out in a field, Sara's horse nudging him with her nose. John is still snoring beside him, and Dave remembers (vaguely) what John said about his own divorce: these things don't happen by accident, even if they do hurt.  
  
In a fit of childishness, he pulls his designer ball-point from his pocket and writes 'penis' on John's cheek, just like his older brother once did to him a memorable night at Exeter.  
  
  
  
It's been a perfect Christmas day in Aspen, light morning snowfall and everything. John and the girls are passed out around the living room, pieces of wrapping paper strewn around them (after Rodney had a minor coronary over toxic fumes when Dave suggested they burn them). Somebody has used excess ribbon to tie bits of John's hair up like a bunch of small devil's horns, but he's snoring on, oblivious. Dave is unrepentant. His older brother is the one who volunteered himself and Ronon to take three preteen girls and two little boys out for an afternoon of fresh powder.  
  
"Would anyone care for an early dinner?" Teyla asks in that strange lilting accent of hers. After meeting her more than a handful of times, Dave still hasn't managed to get her to tell him exactly where she's from. He's gotten to know her well enough to know never to accept anything she attempted to cook, however.   
  
Luckily for him, Jeannie Miller practically explodes out of the downstairs bathroom, hugely pregnant with her third child, but ready to rescue them all from Teyla's cooking. "Has Mer told you about the traditional Christmas evening sandwiches?"  
  
"No," Teyla says slowly.  
  
Jeannie waddles over to the fridge, "Oh, it's an old Canadian tradition."  
  
Dave has to turn away to keep from laughing. He doesn't need to know a lot about Canadian tradition to know she's lying.   
  
Luckily for her, the door picks that moment to come flying open, Rodney (in a truly hideous orange fleece) and Caleb Miller trail in, shopping bags in hand.  
  
"So, as it turns out, marshmallows are vegetarian," Rodney announces. "We're having s'mores."  
  
"Is this the traditional Canadian evening sandwich of which you speak?" Teyla asks.  
  
Rodney doesn't even seem to notice, making his way over to the floor of the family room, ignoring the spectacular view through the picture windows to crouch down and pull a blanket up over John's shoulders. "You guys didn't let him kill himself out there, did you?"  
  
Sara rises just enough to mumble, "No, Uncle Rodney," before putting her head back down and falling back to sleep.   
  
"He wasn't a total old man on the jumps," little Kanan adds from where he's bouncing in Ronon's lap by the fireplace.  
  
"You let him go over jumps, you big neanderthal!" Rodney shouts, stomping over to Ronon.  
  
"I'm not his mom," Ronon grumbles.  
  
"And his own mom let him break at least eight bones before he left home," Dave points out.  
  
Rodney splutters, going red in the face and ranting.  
  
Dave smiles. This is what he meant those years ago when he tried to tell John about family: you don't choose them, but you have to love them anyway.


End file.
